


Take a Breath... Take it deep

by JosephineLiesmith



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Death, Established Relationship, Feels, M/M, Russian Roulette, i don't know where this came from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosephineLiesmith/pseuds/JosephineLiesmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Covered in the blood of another, alarms sounding, ringing through his ears. Stark smiled, the first since the pained effort he had put in back in that cell. He knows it won't be long before the agents get here, heck, he can hear them already. But he is satisfied by the mauled body in front of him, bloodied and broken. It's almost a horrific sight, and it probably would have bothered him if he could feel anything other than the numbness that had consumed him. His arms were pulled behind him, restrained as he was pulled from the cell, people yelling. He was sure he might have heard Bruce somewhere in the crowd of people, maybe even Steve. He wondered idly if they would be disappointed in him. Probably, but they would also understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Breath... Take it deep

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first piece I'm putting up here on AO3, so please comment what you think! It's the first piece of writing I've done on my own for a VERY long time, so sorry if it's a bit rusty! It's completely unBETA'd, so sorry about that. 
> 
> More notes at the end.

_Drip._

_Breath._

_Drip._

_Drip._

_  
_If someone had asked Tony Stark how he thought he would die, his answer would have been along the lines of 'Saving innocent people.' Or 'In the place of someone much more valuable than me.' (However unlikely the latter would be.) If you caught him on a good day - or maybe a very bad one - he might say to save the one he loved.

If that somone had then turned to Loki, and asked the same question, at first he would be likely to brush it off with a laugh, for who would have the power to kill him? Or why would he allow himself to get placed in the possible situation? But if he stopped to think about it, his answer would probably talk about a battle, or by the hand of someone he'd managed to give a rough time. 

Neither man, genius nor god, would have expected this to come into their cards.

 

_Drip._

_Breath._

_Drip._

_Drip._

 

The cell is dark, dank, and dreary. The walls are only plain cement, and their only light source has been the flickering of an emergency light over the cell door. They've been there, what? Maybe an hour, at most. Waiting, mostly. Each of them had been thinking about it, possible routes of escape, the likelyhood of the rest of the team coming to save them. Neither was looking positive. There had been a message - an order - over some sort of intercom, telling them what choices they had. 

They were rather uninventive, to say the least.

All Tony can hear is the sound of his own breath, his racing heart, and the dripping coming from some pluming (He's assuming the far left wall, but he could be wrong.). Loki hasn't made a sound, just pursed his lips and stayed in thought. Running a hand through his hair, Tony looks between them, to the gun lying in the middle of the metal table. He  knows he's not keeping his cool very well, which is out of character for him. Though of course, Loki is the picture of calm. To most people, anyway. Tony can see it. The tenseness in Loki's shoulders, the slightly too pressed on lips, the rise and fall of Loki's chest a little faster than usual. He knows that if the God picked up that gun, he would be able to tell which time the bullet would shoot. And he's hoping, as that's all he can do, that he doesn't use that to his advantage. 

Green eyes meet brown, for the first time since they woke, rising from the weapon in front of them. His chest is tight, under the slightly tattered leather, but he keeps his posture. He can almost taste the panic and uncertainty coming from his lover opposite, but now would not be the time to lose his cool. Of course, he should have seen this coming, prevented it, stopped it from ever coming to pass. But it was too late for that now. He watches as Stark swallows, before nodding his head, as if to reassure himself, to calm. It will do him no good, but there might be comfort in the action. He watches as the man in front of him gives him a strained smile, so forced it almost looks painful.

"One bullet, six tries." Tony comments lightly, looking back down at the gun for a brief moment before looking up again. Loki gives a small nod.

"Sometimes it is a wonder how any Midgardian stay's alive. What with 'games' such as this." Loki drawls out, a slight hint of bitterness in his tone. It doesn't need to be mentioned that they themselves, if they had the choice, wouldn't play, that their hands were forced. Tony's eyes flicker towards the camera that he knew was in the corner of the room, and takes a deep breath before looking back at the gun. 

"It's never really been my style." He mutters out.

"I can imagine not." Was the reply he got. Loki had never been one to let his emotions show easily, even in times like this. He wasn't going to break that just so some sick pig can watch one of them take their lives, knowing it would leave the other broken. His slim hand reaches out towards the weapon, realizing that if he didn't go first, it would never be shot. He keeps his mind clear, though doesn't break his eye contact, even as a pained noise crawls out from Tony's chest. 

Surely it would be more natural to want to be the one to live, wouldn't it? But of course, Tony would rather give his life for Loki's, and Loki would rather take his life and spare Stark's. Of course, not both of these would be possible.

He pulls the trigger.

There's a harsh release of a breath that had been held, but they are unsure who it came from, it could have been both. Loki can feel the beginnings of a frown pulling at his lips, before sliding the gun across the table, the noise almost deafening. His heart is starting to betray him, pulsing harder and faster as Tony picks up the gun with shaking hands. 

Again, the trigger is pulled. 

Again, no bullet made contact.

Tony places the gun back on the table, giving out a shaken breath, and rubbing his palms into his face, trying to regain some sort of calm sense about himself. He can feel the tears prickling at the back of his eyes, because he knows that somehow Loki would find a way to make sure Tony was saved. He nudges the gun over so Loki can reach it, watching as he picks it up again, and tenses. It's at that point, that a tear falls from Stark, rolling down his cheek, and he shakes his head. "Loki-"

"Don't." Loki says lightly, feeling the weight of the bullet, and giving a soft smile. "Please, Stark." He pleads slightly, before reaching his other hand across the table to rest over Tony's, who is still shaking his head. " _Anthony,_ " He tries to get his attention, and glazed, dark eyes lock onto his own. "Your life is worth far much more than mine." Tony goes to protest, but Loki gives him a look and continues. "You will leave here, alive, and you will continue to do whatever you please, no matter what I say." He points out, with a small, weak, chuckle. "Just do not forget." 

The gun is lifted, and Loki holds it towards his head, keeping his eyes on Tony.

"I love you, Anthony Stark." Were the last whispered and broken words, before the trigger is pulled, and the noise echo's through the room. The noise of the gunshot, Loki's body falling limp towards the floor, Tony's pained yell as he tried to shoot from his seat, his metal bonds suddenly open. The sobs wracking through him visciously as he cradled Loki in his arms.

His heart was hardened then. 

The Tony Stark that had just been found, a man who cared for another with all his being, even with the sharp wit and even sharper tongue. He was lost. Someone who had been so broken, who had just been put back together again, shattered.

It's at that moment, where he feels like nothing could get worse, when the door to the cell is kicked open. He doesn't look up. His eyes are still stinging, burning with the tears pouring from them, his throat is going dry, but the sobs don't stop. Tony doesn't even notice when his hands are painted scarlett, as well as his clothes, the red seeping onto the floor. He can hear voices, shouts, but he doesn't let them register. Someone is pulling at him then, and he notices that. Refusing to let go of his lover, cold and motionless, he is dragged out screaming, no longer caring who sees him at his worst. He watches as they pick up the body, grim looks on their own faces, as they take them out of the compound.

If they had waited, just waited, it wouldn't have been too late. Or maybe, if the team were faster. Both would blame themselves for the death, but it wouldn't bring the AEsir back. 

 

The next thing Tony Stark sees is the white of the hospital ceiling. It's dull, and he can count every imperfection. The cracks in the paint, the slight signs of damp in the corners from the age of the building. He's faintly aware of a beeping next to him, most likely his heart rate. It's been a few days by now, he assumes. Not that it matters anymore. He wonders aloud if the man who caught them was dead. The answer was no, but he was in captivity. At least he had  _something_ to do when they let him out. 

 _If_ they let him out.

He's a liability now. Unstable, less likely to be controlled - moreso than usual. Either he'll be a danger to others, or a danger to himself. Severe depression. He's heard them speak about it, when they thought he couldn't hear them. He knows they're right, but they don't understand, do they? They can't feel his pain. They don't have to relive the moments every time they close their eyes. Watching the life drain so quickly, the fire burning out. Those last few words. Holding a lifeless body of someone he held so close to him, who was so important. The blood on his hands, and if only they had waited. If they had waited, then Loki would still be breathing. His smirk, the roll of his eyes at any given moment, for any comment or snide remark.

He looks around the room then, seeing that it has emptied since the last time he cared to pay any notice. He looks at the wires attached to him, before reaching up to pull them out slowly. He has to do this. He knows where he is. He's in SHIELD's medical bay. Corridor to the left, second right, through the metal doors, two lefts, and a passcode. All of that was simple, and he found himself faced with the cells. He'd disarmed one of the agents on the way, thankful that they had more than just a gun on them. A knife was far more personal. 

 

Covered in the blood of another, alarms sounding, ringing through his ears. Stark smiled, the first since the pained effort he had put in back in that cell. He knows it won't be long before the agents get here, heck, he can hear them already. But he is satisfied by the mauled body in front of him, bloodied and broken. It's almost a horrific sight, and it probably would have bothered him if he could feel anything other than the numbness that had consumed him. His arms were pulled behind him, restrained as he was pulled from the cell, people yelling. He was sure he might have heard Bruce somewhere in the crowd of people, maybe even Steve. He wondered idly if they would be disappointed in him.  _Probably,_ but they would also understand.  _  
_

It was later that night, in his own cell, that those whispered words were said yet again from a rough throat and a dry mouth. A hole in his chest, both physically and mentally, the blue of the Arc Reactor shining from across the room where he had thrown it. A new, smaller, softer smile gracing his face as he closed his eyes.

_"I love you too."_

 

**Author's Note:**

> This actually came to me a bit randomly, and it's taken me months to actually get it down. I was going through my iTunes and Russian Roulette by Rihanna came on. I think I'd been reading some FrostIron beforehand, and I almost burst into tears. I almost thought to find someone who's really good at writing fics to see if they would mind using this as a prompt, but it was also something I wanted to get down, so here it is! 
> 
> Partially for the Bilgesnipe. 
> 
> Thanks !


End file.
